


death by a thousand cuts: the ficlets

by ivyrobinson



Series: death by a thousand cuts [5]
Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: A little bit of everything, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyrobinson/pseuds/ivyrobinson
Summary: collection of tumblr prompts and ficlets set in death by a thousand cuts universe
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Series: death by a thousand cuts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605637
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	1. nye: otma

**Author's Note:**

> “All I wanted was for you to be happy.”
> 
> death by a thousand cuts universe- first nye after break up

“Nastya,” Anya’s eldest sister, Olga, sat on the sofa next to her, the sounds of the party beyond the room once again muffling as the door came to shut. Behind her were their middle sisters, Tatiana and Maria. “Are you going to sit in a sulk all night?”

Anya played with an invisible thread at the hem of her skirt. Earlier that day, Tatiana and Maria had shown up at their parents’ house, where she currently was staying, and told her she had to come to the party tonight and had to really ‘show up for it’. The problem with choosing to break up with someone over the holidays was this- there was always one thing after another to attend when all you wanted to do was sit on the floor in an oversized t-shirt, and binge on comfort foods. The other problem was she had been the one to break things off. 

“Lily’s not even at her own party,” she pointed out, “I’m not certain why I have to be here.” Maria sat on the other side of her, and Tatiana on the floor in front of her. Sometimes, in these moments, she couldn’t remember what it was like to not have grown up with her sisters. 

“Because you’re young, you’re beautiful, and Lily’s off celebrating getting engaged,” Tatiana pointed out, resting her check against Anya’s knee. 

She didn’t feel beautiful, though her sisters had tried their hardest earlier. “Dmitry had Vlad give me back the key to our apartment, he’s decided to move out.”

Anya wasn’t even surprised that Dmitry wouldn’t stay in their apartment, but she had thought he wouldn’t have left until after she was gone to Paris. 

“Where did he go?” Maria asked, and Anya shook her head in response. 

Anya didn’t know. It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask, as Vlad had placed the key in her hand, apologizing for the timing but he and Lily were going on a trip the next day, after the party was cleaned up and didn’t know if he’d see her again before she left. The words had been stuck in the back of her throat, and her chin had wobbled. They never found their way out. 

“He moved in with Marfa,” Tatiana said quietly. 

Anya couldn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes, though she had lost the right to. She’d ask how Tatiana knew, but her older sister had never had the issues Anya had connecting with Dmitry’s childhood friends, and the four of them had gone out to the clubs together several times. 

Maria leaned in to whisper in her ear, “You’re allowed to be bitter.” 

Anya smiled a bit at that, “No, they’ve been friends longer than I’ve known him. It makes sense.” 

She didn’t mean to be jealous or weird about Dmitry’s female friends. It was just the first few years together, she had only known his friendship with Vlad. It had been a jarring feeling to have these three girls show up with claims to a history with Dmitry. Platonic or not. 

“Do you regret it?” Olga asked her, quite seriously. “All I want for you is to be happy.” 

“I don’t know how I’ll feel about it yet,” Anya said, shrugging. “I do think I’m making the right decision for the future.” 

Maria wrapped her arms around her, placing a shiny kiss on her cheek. “The Little Pair take on France.”

“Parisians won’t know what hits them,” Anya agreed, as Tatiana got up to her feet. 

“Time to get some champagne, get dancing, and find some boys,” Tatiana pointed to the three on the couch, “Or girls,” she pointed at herself, “To kiss at midnight.”

Anya shook her head, “Let’s get the champagne, but there’s absolutely no one I’d rather be ringing in the New Year with than my sisters.” 

She wasn’t ready to start kissing other boys yet. Maybe in the next year, in another country, she’ll be in another life and it’ll feel normal and natural. But for now she wants to keep that piece with her as long as she’s still in New York. 

Her three sisters exchanged a look, and they all nodded. She hated to think she was taking something away from them, but she had sacrificed so much as well since being reunited with them. 

“I’ll go ge the champagne,” Olga volunteered, “And Alexei, if I can find him.” 

“You won’t be able to keep him from kissing any boys at midnight, but good luck,” Maria called after her. 

Tatiana fell back into the seat Olga had just vacated. Surrounded by her sisters, she had no doubts that she had taken the right step towards her future.


	2. anastasia the lifetime movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dimya + 40. "I wasn't lying when I said I loved you." :)
> 
> death by a thousand cuts universe- pre-fic, somewhere between the first and second year of their dating

“I wasn’t lying…” The Dmitry on the screen (or rather Dmitry/Dimitri as he was credited on the cast list) said, biting his lower lip and looking pensively off towards the snow covered (?) mountains of Florida. “When I said I loved you, Anna.” 

“For the love of God, we have to end this,” Dmitry in real life proclaimed, reaching over (the actually named) Anya towards the remote.

She gasped, and dove for the remote, retrieving it before he did, and jumping up to stand on sofa cushion. She held it high above her head, “When else are you ever going to be able to watch a Lifetime movie of your life?”

He swiped below her knees, bringing her back down, stumbling to half fall on his lap. “Never, as this is no way in anything that has ever happened in my life.” 

He had to admit, he was nervous when the Romanovs had first announced this unfortunate development that Lifetime was going to adapt Anya’s (no- Anastasia’s) ‘story’. They had brushed it off, saying it would be no big deal, that it could even redirect people’s interest in their daughter’s life with the absurdity. They could be right- and he had no worries about anyone actually knowing anything more about him after this movie came out. For starters, they had him working for the Romanov family when he was a child. 

What Dmitry actually thought, and knew better than to bring it up to Anya, is that bad business decisions- and funds to try to find her and rewards given out for the tiniest morsel of information, had led her family to not have as much funds as they appeared, and her parents now sold the only tangible thing they had worth any money now. 

Bringing that up, though, would only cause tension and bring up the old argument of why couldn’t he just see the good in her parents. It wasn’t that he couldn’t, but he knew the shadows that lay underneath people’s love.

“Anything?” She teased, straddling his lap, but still holding the remote above her head. Allegedly, out of his reach, but the height difference between them made that an impossible task for her in actuality. “So you were lying when you said you loved me?”

Dmitry tried for the remote, and she leaned back, “Well, not that.” He slid his fingers underneath the hem of the nightshirt she was wearing. And found exactly the right spot to tickle her. “Surrender.” 

Their fictional counterparts shared a rather long and saliva filled kiss on the screen as generic romantic music played in the background. He had never wanted to throw something at the television more than he did at that moment. 

“Never!” Anya shrieked with laughter as she fell onto her back on the sofa. She kept her grip on the remote, above her head, attempting to hide part of it under the arm of the sofa. “We haven’t even made it to New York yet.”

“That’s because they went from New Mexico to New York by way of Florida,” he said, climbing over her. She wriggled beneath him, but was running out of space to move. Her eyes glanced over at his biceps as he held himself above her, but she quickly corrected herself to look back up at his face. He raised an eyebrow to let her know he had caught that. Dmitry decided to change tactics. He pulled her sleep shirt up to expose her midriff, and she shook her head. He lowered his head, pressed his mouth to her stomach and…blew a raspberry. 

“Dima!” She protested, while laughing. He could feel her feet kicking against his sides. 

He pressed his cheek against the flat of her stomach, and could feel her breathing rate quicken. He smiled against her skin. 

“Dmitry,” she scolded, attempting to sound stern but instead it just came out breathy. “You’re not going to win.” 

“Oh Anya,” he said, and he turned his head to place a kiss right below her button. She squirmed beneath him. “I think you want me to win.” 

Dmitry glanced up to see her bit her own lower lip, and glance at the television and back at him. Her sleep shirt was all twisted below her breasts, and cheeks were flushed and her breathing still uneven. She was torn. Not so much that she actually wanted to watch that atrocity on screen, but because it was hard for her to let him win. 

Finally, her arms slackened, bringing the remote up and shutting off the television. After all, in this scenario she was really the one winning after all.


	3. i fell in love with you not them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I fell in love with you, not them.”
> 
> death by a thousand cuts universe (well…before the fic begins)

“I fell in love with you, not them,” Dmitry said. It had been nearly a full year since they had discovered that Anya was, in fact, Anastasia. It had been an endless round of family dinners (understandable but overwhelming), appointments with the media (annoying and overwhelming), and a lot of attention (overwhelming). 

But it was Anya, and it was worth it. 

Attending her family’s fancy, big Christmas party was not. 

“Apparently I’m a package deal,” she said, stepping between his legs. He placed his hands on her waist. She leaned down and placed a kiss on his lips. “You can skip this one. But you will have to be at Lily’s party on New Year’s, or else they’ll think you hate them.”

Dmitry was rather neutral on most of Anya’s rich and fancy family. With the exception of her siblings, Maria and Alexei. Tatiana and Olga were rather intimidating. 

“And?” 

It was Christmas time he may as well get greedy and ask for more. 

Anya bit her lip, as she thought about it. “And you can get me all day on the 26th.”

She squealed as he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. Perhaps the songs were right and this really was the most wonderful time of the year.


	4. paulina/dmitry friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set post-break up

The apartment was nowhere as nice as the one him and Anya shared, and held far more people, but there was a sort of scrappy hominess that had been vacant from their apartment. Every little item her family just happened to drop off seemed to erase the past more and more and pull them further into the Romanov aesthetic. The apartment he shared with Marfa, Paulina and Dunya, was a chaotic mess of history. 

He collapsed onto the oversized sofa in the middle of their living room, he had just finished up a shift at the bar he worked part time at, and then had grabbed a bite to eat with Adriela, who had asked if he wanted to as he called last call. They hadn’t made it to food, but they hadn’t made it much past making out in the alley, either. 

He could’ve brought her back, but he was exhausted and he wasn’t sleeping much these days. Also, the girls had a habit of befriending the girls he hooked up with. Due to his bartending schedule, many times they were just getting up as the girl he had just hooked up with were sneaking out. This would lead to them taking in said girl for breakfast, and he could always hear the loud chatter and laughing as he attempted to fall asleep in his bedroom. 

As it was, Dunya had done a cameo in a video for Vika’s Youtube channel. And, weirdly, a hook up of Paulina’s had met one of Dmitry’s over one of those breakfasts and the two had been together ever since. Paulina made him go to brunch with them at least once a month, because it amused her to no end. 

The only one who didn’t seem to be having hook ups these days was Marfa, and he had asked about it once, and she had threatened to evict him. He had relented, but not before warning her that if he ever had to come across Gleb in his underwear, he would self evict. He had suffered for that remark, but it had been worth it. 

“Mitya? Is that you?” he could see a bit of a light from the other side of the living room. He could feel bare feet against the hardwood floor before Paulina came into view. She was wearing an oversized New York Rangers t-shirt. He squinted. Oh, it was one of his. 

It was neither the first, nor would it be the last, of shirts stolen from him by one of the girls. 

He lifted his head up slightly, “Did I wake you up?” 

She shook her head, and rubbed her eyes. “No, I’ve been up studying.” Paulina had recently started college for a degree in early education. She sat down on the sofa, and slid underneath his head. “You smell like the bar, and look well kissed.” 

Paulina tapped his lips before moving her fingers to idly stroke his hair. 

“Just another night.” 

“Where’s the girl?” She asked him, and he closed his eyes. “You should’ve brought her home.” 

He opened his eyes to roll them, “You guys don’t have enough friends already?”

Dmitry could feel her laugh underneath his head. “We love your little hook ups. They’re adorable. Last week, Caro let me use her discount at Macy’s.” 

He lifted his hand up to cover her face, and she shoved his hand away. “I wasn’t feeling it tonight.” 

It wasn’t this exhausting to be him when he was a teenager, switching from home to home, trying to survive. Or when he was attempting to make it across America, homeless and hungry. He liked to think it was age over anything else.

“You know what your trouble with sleeping is, Dima?” She asked. He looked up at her use of the nickname. The girls always stuck with Mitya when giving him a diminutive, but he let the name from her settle over him. It didn’t feel wrong. “You’re a monogamist, at heart.” 

She lifted her knee up slightly, a sign for him to sit up. Paulina stood, and held her hands out for him to take, “Come on, get up.” 

He placed his hands in hers and stood up, “What are you doing?” 

“What I’ve been wanting to do since I was thirteen,” she said with a wink over her shoulder. “Taking you to bed.” Dmitry stopped in his tracks, and she turned to look at him. “Look at you, actually considering it.”

Dmitry shook his head, “Polly.” 

“Your problem is that you shared a bed with someone for nine years,” She said, grabbing his hand again and pulling him forward. “You can’t sleep now because you don’t know how to sleep alone.” 

It seemed wrong. He had slept in cars, on cots, on couches, for twenty years before Anya had come into his life. 

Paulina climbed onto her bed, and patted to the side of her. “I”ll even let you be big spoon tonight.” 

Dmitry looked around the room, and decided at this rate it was late and he may as well try it. He kicked off his shoes and his jeans and climbed on the bed behind Paulina. He threw his arm around her midsection, and turned his head towards her hair. 

“Pol?” 

“Yeah?” She whispered back.

“Why is your bed so much softer than mine?” 

He could feel her laugh again. “I didn’t buy mine at a tag sale.” She patted he hand he had resting against her. “Get some sleep.” 

Dmitry nodded against her hair, and his eyes fluttered shut. There must have been some truth to what she was saying, as the next thing he knew, it was mid-morning.


	5. the way i loved you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post break up, pre epilogue

“You always date boys with brown eyes,” Maria had accused her of the week before. 

Anya had shook her off, because she didn’t notice such things. She swore.

To her sister, she had said, “You set me up with half these boys, I have no say over the color of their eyes.” 

Maria had just rolled her eyes with the impatience of an older sister, “Yes, Nastya, I know your type.” 

Now, she was here, sitting at the restaurant with Daniel, all she could see was his brown eyes. Maybe her sister was right, and she was stuck on the familiar. Maria never called her out for Dmitry having brown eyes. She just didn’t realize it was a thing until this very moment. 

Daniel could speak perfect French, and had done so fluently through the entire course of the meal. He worked as a Public Relations officer at the Louvre. He was originally from Scotland. His grandmother’s brother had once been roommates with Anya’s grandfather. 

And while the speaking French thing was charming. They were in France after all However, they were in France, after all, and Anya spent her entire day surrounded by French speakers, which she also spoke fluently in, but she missed other languages. Only Maria spoke English to her anymore. Ever since they had landed in Paris, their grandmother had completely thrown out the English language. 

Their family was Russian. It was the only part of her she had kept when she had been stolen away as a child. She had grown up with a Russian immigrant family- a fake family, but a family. When her captors had died, she had been placed amongst other Russian immigrant orphans and Russian immigrant foster families. 

Her family- her real family, pulled pained faces whenever she spoke the language. She had given up doing so around them, though they could all speak it (her family was a complicated create she would never figure out), like she did with everything else that made them slightly uncomfortable. 

She had never figured out how to stop trying to make up for the years of her absence, as though it was one of her own doing. Only Dmitry had still spoken Russian to her. Whispered in her ear, making her giggle at her family’s uncomfortable dinners. Panted Russian prayers in her ears as they made love. Had casually spoke the language to her in passing. 

He had always been better at the language than her. 

She had attempted to teach him French, back when she was getting lessons. She had retained some from when she was a child. A hidden part of her brain that remembered her past better than she ever would. He claimed to have been bad at it, but the truth was he was very adept at languages. He had no interest in learning French. 

They were always heading in separate directions. Dmitry clung to his past, while Anya was clinging to her future. 

The thought hardened her resolve, and she put all her focus back on what Daniel was saying. He wasn’t so bad, once she stopped focusing on the color of his eyes. He had dark blond hair that curled slightly around his face, giving him a slightly boyish look. He was tall, but not overly so. She came up to about his nose. And almost to his forehead with the heels she currently had on. 

Anya took another sip of her wine. She felt older, and more sophisticated than she had ever felt back in New York, or her life before then. People called her Anastasia. Once, with one of the first guys she had dated after she had arrived here, she had said her name was Anya, he didn’t seem to grasp the concept that it wasn’t the same as Anna. He had called her Anna for both dates they went on. 

Maria and Marie both introduced her as Anastasia. She could feel that poor, broken girl that Anya had been slipping away from her. For the first time, she could really feel what was stolen away from her. It wasn’t just her family, she had felt that every day back in New York. It was this opportunity and status. She no longer felt like two girls warring for the same place. 

She took another sip of her wine. 

Her entire life had fallen into place, and she was with a charming, successful man in the most romantic city in the world.

(She had never felt so bored.)


	6. I can’t sleep, can I stay here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pre-universe

“I can’t sleep,” Dmitry was half asleep when the sound of the zipper of the tent being opened roused him from the state. “Can I stay here?”

Dmitry sat up in his sleeping bag, pushing his hair out of his face. “What happened to the car was the perfect place to sleep?”

She mumbled something as she re-zipped the tent behind her. 

Dmitry held a hand up to shield his eyes from the bright light of the lantern that shone when she turned around, “Care to repeat that, your highness?”

She was staring at him, “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

He leaned over to take the lantern from her and set it down, while decreasing the brightness. “Like what you see?”

“Mostly I’m concerned about the bugs that will crawl all over your flesh,” she responded, taking a seat at the end of his sleeping bed. 

“There’s only one pest bothering me right now,” he responded, overly sweet. 

Anya made a face at him, “You’re not cute.”

“Hey,” Dmitry motioned with his fingers. “My eyes are up here.”

She reached over and pulled his pillow to hit him with it. “The car is like an overheated coffin.”

He knew, the windows stuck and you couldn’t even crack a window. At least in the tent there was some air circulating around. 

“It’s hot and stuffy weather,” Dmitry agreed. “So now you want to sleep with me?”

“In your tent,” she made sure to clarify. “I don’t know where Vlad went, and I suppose sharing a tent with you is preferable to death by suffocation.” 

Dmitry grabbed the pillow she had smacked him with and tossed it over to her, “You always say the sweetest things to me.”

Anya groaned as she stretched out on the tent and placed her head against his pillow. “The feeling is mutual.”

He reached over grabbing the shirt he removed, and balled it up to put under his head. “Sweet dreams.”

Then he went to turn off the lantern completely, but Anya’s hand grasped his upper arm. “Not all the way, please.”

She sounded small when she said it, so he bit back what his normal retort would be to her. Instead he just dimmed it to a soft glow in the tent. 

He glanced over at her, and her eyes fluttered shut. Her features were pretty and soft in the dim light. Honey blonde curls falling around her. Dmitry glanced away because it would never end well to notice such things. 

“Dmitry?” Anya spoke out in the darkness. 

His eyes found her face again, all blue eyes and heart shaped, “Anya?”

“Have you been camping like this a lot?”

“If you mean, across the country to reunite a lost heiress with her family then no,” Dmitry said, and she rolled her eyes in response. “I’ve slept on the streets a lot, too. But it’s not the same as this.” Then, softly, “My dad used to take me camping at sites like this when he was still alive.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dmitry said. “He was obsessed with the stars. We barely had enough money for rent, but he’d collect telescope parts and build his own out of them.”

“Does his son put together telescopes to see the stars too?”

“No,” Dmitry let out a small laugh that wasn’t quite bitter. “His son has always been firmly on the ground.” 

“I don’t know,” Anya yawned. “I think you have a bit of a dreamer in you, too.”

Dmitry felt further away from the man his father had been with each passing day since his death. “How so?”

“Some of these notions of me that you have are just wild,” she teased, her eyes fluttering shut. 

If only she knew. 

But her breathing steadied and whatever sleep she had been fighting claimed her and Dmitry threw an arm over his eyes and tried to let sleep claim him as well.


	7. you've always got me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DBATC + en route to NYC about nine years before the story begins.

Anya had dozed off sometime after Schenectady, her fingers wrapped loosely around his arm, and her cheek tucked against his shoulder. She had one earbud hanging loose from the tablet she had been watching a movie on. Dmitry had his own in, listening to some book but he kept losing his place every time she shifted and moved in her sleep. Vlad was at some other part of the train, there weren’t three seats nearby available when they had boarded. 

Her fingers moved on his arm, and she lifted her head up, wiping the sleep from her eyes. 

Dmitry pulled his earbuds from his ears, giving up completely on the book as she pulled her remaining one from her ear. 

“Where are we?” She asked, attempting to stretch. 

Dmitry had to think about what the last station he had seen, “Just past Rhinecliff.”

“Oh,” she said, unsure how to respond to that. “We are almost there, I guess.” 

“Closer than we have been before,” Dmitry said, for some reason that made his heartbeat fast in his chest. 

It was the anticipation of pulling this off. He didn’t worry and he didn’t get attached. 

Anya twisted in her seat slightly, so she was facing him more. Her hand grasped his leg. His pulse quickened again. “What if they don’t even want to see me?”

“It’s a possibility,” he said slowly. He was always on the ground, after all. “But we haven’t come all this way to start having doubts now.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” she said, her forehead dropping to rest on his bicep. “What if we’ve come all this way for nothing, and I’m still Anya Nobody?”

She could never just be Anya nobody. 

“Hey,” he said, pulling back, to slide his finger underneath her chin so she was looking up at him. “You’ve always got me.”

It occurred to him after to not make promises he wouldn’t be able to keep. 

Her mouth broke up in a smile, and she relaxed against him, her head back on his shoulder. He looped and arm around her back. So they’d both be more comfortable. 

“Two orphans with nothing else in the world,” she told him. She spoke of it like it’d be as nice of a dream as being the lost heiress of a fortune and large family. 

“You don’t know that,” Dmitry countered, because if nothing else he had to believe in the ability to pull this off. “The answer awaits in New York City.”

Anya sighed, and he could see her eyes flutter shut again. “You’ve always got me too, Dmitry.”

So much for her policy against dishonesty. If nothing else, now they were both liars.


	8. mother's day post-meet me in the afterglow

Considering how much paint was on the artist in the end, it was a remarkably well painted music box. Dmitry may or may not be biased due to the nature of his relationship with said artist, but she definitely has potential. 

The artist in question is precariously balanced on top of a chair in the kitchen as she surveys her work. Dmitry places his hands at her sides to steady her, as she has not listened to his past several requests to not stand on furniture. 

She turns and places her hands on his cheeks, staining them with blue and yellow paint. “Do you think Mama will like it?” 

“I do,” he says and lifts her up to set her back down on the floor but instead Stella throws her arms around his neck. He corrects and sets her on his hip. “Did you enjoy painting it?” 

Stella nods enthusiastically. “What did you get her?”

It’s Mother’s Day and Stella was insistent on what she wanted to get her mother this year. She wanted a music box she could paint and give. So Dmitry had crafted one out of wood, and taken the gears from other music boxes to put in the guts of it. It played Waltz of the Flowers from The Nutcracker which isn’t necessarily seasonally appropriate but nice to hear regardless. 

Dmitry taps her on the nose, “You.”

The gift that keeps on giving. Even if she’s now in desperately need of a bath at 6:30am. 

Stella giggles and swats his hand away, “But I’m six! You need to get her a new gift, Papa.” 

Dmitry pretends to consider it. “Guess that means I am making breakfast this morning.” 

“Can I help?” She asks. 

He takes in the mess she made on the newspapers under the music box, and the mess on her skin and on the old button up shirt of his she’s wearing as a smock. “I always need a helper, but I need a clean helper.” 

“I can be clean,” she promises, despite six years of history proving otherwise.

Dmitry sets her on the edge of the kitchen sink, grabbing a washcloth and running the water and mixing it with soap before taking it to her hands. Then her face. For once she’s surprisingly patient as he cleans her up. 

“Papa, your face,” she reminds him, taking the washcloth to pat his cheeks with it. 

He gently takes it from her, rinsing it out before trying to get the paint off himself. He’s certain there’s paint all over the back of his neck as well, but this will have to do for now. 

Dmitry shuts off the water, holding Stella by the shoulders as he surveys his handiwork. “Ah yes, there’s my Stella.” 

“I’ve been here,” she reminds him impatiently as he removes the smock from her. 

He kisses her on the cheek as he sets her down from the counter to the floor. “I couldn’t tell under all that paint.” 

Dmitry planned ahead for this the night before, storing a container of pancake batter in the fridge. He starts the stove to get the griddle ready. 

“Can you get the syrup and orange juice out of the fridge?” He asks her. “Not at the same time.” 

Stella nods and starts to run to the fridge, slowing to a walk when he gives her a look. 

He starts the coffee maker as he waits for the pancakes to be ready to be flipped. It won’t be brought up to her, as a six year old a mug of coffee seems like a hospital visit waiting to happen but it’ll be ready when she comes down. 

Dmitry flips the pancakes and then reaches up in the cupboard to pull one of Stella’s plastic princess cups and hands it to her. 

She places the cup on a kitchen chair, and he tries not to wince as she pours. Fortunately there’s only a little spilling before she sets the orange juice down on the table, uncapped. 

“Put the cap back on,” Dmitry reminds her, as he plates the pancakes. 

Stella puts the cap back on the container loosely. Well, it’s a start. 

“Syrup?” She asks. 

Dmitry nods, lowering the plate to her level so she can put a healthy splash on it. “Good job, bean.” 

Stella grins back up at him. “Do I get pancakes too?” 

“Yes,” he promises. It’s not the first time he’s promised this today. “After your mother.” 

“Do I get a day?” 

As an only child, she basically gets every other day of her life. But children never understand that. 

“Yes, your birthday,” he tells her. Hopefully she doesn’t point out that Anya gets a birthday as well. 

She considers this and then nods in acceptance. Which is good because it’s too early to commit to making an entire holiday around her and a date for that. 

Dmitry takes a tray, setting the pancakes and orange juice on it. He checks the music box to find it dry and adds that as well. 

Stella reaches up to take it and he shakes his head. “I’ll carry it upstairs and you bring it into our room.” 

She sighs, but turns to lead him up the stairs. She goes faster than she should, but holds the railing. Anything before 7am is about half won battles with a six year old. 

The door was left open a crack when he got up this morning so he transfers the tray to Stella before reaching over to open the door fully for her. 

Thankfully, she walks slowly and carefully over to the bed. 

Anya gives up pretending to be asleep and sits up to take the tray from her before Stella attempts to climb the bed to give it to her. 

“All of this?” Anya gasps as Dmitry lifts Stella up to deposit her onto the bed. “Just for me?” 

“Yes!” Stella exclaims, throwing her arms around her mother. “For your day.” 

“Well thank you, baby,” Anya says and kisses her cheek. 

Stella reaches over and picks up the music box and hands it to Anya as she’s trying to take a sip of orange juice. “I painted it.” 

“I see that,” Anya says, looking over the wooden music box. It’s a dark blue with stars and moons on it. Stella has traced the shapes with pencil before painting it and some of the pencil marks still remain. “It looks beautiful.” 

She opens it and music fills the room. 

“This is a wonderful gift, Stel,” Anya tells her. “Thank you.” 

“Papa helped a tiny bit,” Stella informs her, generously giving him some of the credit. 

Anya bites back a laugh and meets Dmitry’s eyes. “Thank you Dima.” 

“You’re welcome,” he says, leaning over to give her a kiss on the lips. “I’m going to go get a cup of coffee.” 

“And pancakes,” Stella reminds him, laying back against the pillows, looking half asleep already. 

Anya mouths the word ‘coffee’ to him as she takes a bite of her own pancakes. 

He nods before leaving the room. After coffee he can begin picking up the mess of the kitchen table.


End file.
